Bearer of all Light
by sandmanfan
Summary: Dean goes undercover to try and steal an artifact that might just tip the balance in the upcoming war with the demons. Set three weeks after after AHBL.
1. Chapter 1 The show must go on

Dean goes undercover, to try and acquire something that may just tip the balance in the upcoming war.

Bearer of all Light

Chapter one

'_How could a lousy book be so much trouble?' _Sam was stationed at the small table in front of his open laptop but his attention was elsewhere. Nothing was ever simple, and as this plan had time to germinate in his mind he was sure of only two things.

One, if Bobby's contact was right, this book would be a great weapon in the war…in fact it may even tip the balance; and two, Dean was the wrong man for this particular job. Hell, he wasn't sure that any hunter would beright for_ this_ job, but _Dean_?

It was bad enough that his brother had spent the last three weeks throwing himself at every hunt that came their way, launching himself in front of every supernatural nasty, dragging Sam behind. A bulldozer of all things demonic, nothing paranormal was safe and Sam was feeling the strain. Another wave of frustration snaked its way through his gut.

_Enoug__h. _Standing smartly, he marched over to the closed bathroom door.

"Dean, this is so stupid!" He fisted his hand and hammered on the wood.

It sounded louder than he'd intended but he didn't care. "This has got to be one of the worst plans I've _ever_ heard. You know there is no way this is gonna work, you'll be made the second you set foot in that place."

The voice sounded muffled through the thin wooden barrier. "Fraid I can't hear a word you're saying _Griselda_, try speaking up a little cos I'm_ pretty sure the neighbour's can't hear you either."_

"_Deeaan!"_

Sam inwardly cringed at the sound of himself. God, was he _whining_? When had he started whining? But then why exactly was _that_ a surprise? Two days of beating his head against the brick wall that was Dean Winchester and this was kind of to be expected. And the audible smirk in the voice coming from the bathroom just made him angrier. He needed to talk to Bobby, and he needed to talk to him now!

As if on cue Sam thoughts were diverted by the rumble of Bobby's pickup pulling up outside. Pivoting on his heels he stalked out of the room letting the unlocked door slam behind him.

In the bathroom, Dean braced himself against the cool porcelain of the sink. He breathed in deep and tried to exhale the tension sitting deep in his chest. Eyes tight shut, he tried to clear his mind and take stock. He looked at himself in the cracked and steamy bathroom mirror one last time.

'_Jeez, this had better be freaking worth it.'_

ooooo

Bobby scanned the car park as he pulled up in front of room 12. He'd only been gone a little under 2 hours, so why was he feeling like the world had shifted out of sinc in that short time? He saw Sam approach as he switched off the engine, and recognised that Winchester on the warpath look. Hell he'd seen _that one_ a few too many times already, and it never ended anywhere good. As he climbed out of the truck he hooked his cap and dragged a hand through greying hair. Replacing his headgear, he took a deep breath and put up both hands in a consolatory gesture before shaking his head carefully.

"Don't even get started on me boy. That brother of yours has never listened to a word I said before, what in hell makes you think he'll start now? And I know better that to get between two Winchesters no matter what the reason. Sides, this plan ain't as bad as you're making out. He may just pull it off _– long as you're willing to help him."_

"It's not about helping him Bobby you know that, it's just, this feels like an accident waiting to happen" Sam stretched out his arms and shrugged. "There must be another way we can get hold of this book. If it is what you think it is, maybe this guy will see reason and….."

"Don't think your givin' your brother much credit there Sam" Bobby looked at him hard. "And as far as seeing reason is concerned, this guy had his chance. He only talks to money, and that means not to the likes of us."

"Fine, but you know as well as I do that it should be me going" Sam couldn't help the hint of resentment in his voice.

Bobby gathered up the supplies and slammed the cab door as he started towards their room. He glanced up at Sam as he spoke softly "Yeah, because we all know he's gonna let _that_ happen."

Bobby stilled, the words hanging in the air between them. The shame that darkened Sam's face sent Bobby cold, throwing a shiver of guilt down his spine but he quickly regained his composure. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. "Besides, for this job you just don't fit the profile Sam, you know that, and you know I wouldn't let Dean do anything if I thought…….. " again Bobby caught Sam's eye. There was nothing further to be said. Neither man was prepared to risk Dean even if he seemed fixated on risking himself. Bobby lowered his gaze, turned and started for the motel.

Bobby and Sam entered the room in silence, both weary and feeling like they'd done nothing except but heads for the last 24 hours. Sam closed and locked the door, turning just in time to see Dean make an appearance from the bathroom.

For just for a moment, time stood still.

The hair on top and back of Dean's head was spiked up and out in tufts and he had pulled down a fringe of sorts from the longer hair usually so perfectly gelled above his forehead. Of course the style wasn't so much the issue as was the colour, it was pale gold, the colour of butter popcorn. As were his eyebrows and the trimmed beard he wore.

'_In through the nose out through the mouth, keep breathing Dean, Just like a hunt – don't let them feel your fear.'_

Dean didn't move.

Then slowly a grin started to inch its way onto his face. He tossed the used towel from his neck onto the bed and stood in front of the closed bathroom door in black button-down shirt and pants, a stark contrast to his new bleach blond hair.

Creasing his eyebrows he looked at Sam "So Sammy, still don't think I can pull this off, huh? Still think they'll spot me the moment I walk in there?"

Sam hadn't moved from the door, eyes stiffly focused on his brother. "Dude, I'm not sure_ I_ would spot you. That stuff _will_ wash out, right!?"

Dean ran the back of his hand under his chin through the short beard. _'Oh God I hope so.' _

"Well y'know, Sammy,I'm kinda thinking of keeping it like this for a while just to find out for myself."

This time it was bobby who managed to find his voice. "Find out what exactly?"

Dean smirked. "Do blonds really have more fun, Bobby? I just gotta know."

Bobby shook his head slowly one more time in what looked a lot like despair and moved to the table. He set about emptying the bags of supplies he had brought, food and ammunition. As an afterthought he pulled out a pair of small, round rimmed, dark glasses from a pocket and tossed them to Dean.

Sam still couldn't take his eyes off this new look. It was all kinds of wrong, in all kinds of ways, but strangely, it just _worked…_and once Dean put on the glasses…

"Man, you look like a German librarian" Sam said slowly and pulled a lop-sided grin.

"Just the look I was going for, quit starring. Dude take a picture it'll last longer" Dean immediately swatted at Sam hand as he held up his mobile.

"Boys, we need to get serious here." Bobby walked back to the centre of the room and stood between the two brothers. "This job is important, I don't need to remind either of you what's at stake here, so if were gonna do it, we need to do it right. If this is gonna have any chance of playin' out…" he gestured to Dean "…you got some work to do." He turned to Sam "…and you've gotta help him. He may have the look down but that mouth of his will kick start trouble before he's engaged his brain" Glancing back to Dean "You gotta make them believe you know what you're talking about and that ain't always easy for you Dean, even when you do. We got 24 hours; it ain't long so let's move like we mean it."

ooooo

The hand slid snugly into the white latex glove as he flexed and tested his fingers, the thin plastic cuff at his wrist, snapped as he tugged on it. He liked to do that, made him feel like a medical man. Made him feel like a man with an important job to do. _A surgeon, carrying the godly gift of hope to the unfortunate. _It made him feel like a man on a mission.

He allowed his gaze to wander for just a moment and caught his own reflection in the large glass cabinet to his right. He rocked his weight onto the balls of his feet and stood as tall as his diminutive height would allow. Lifting his chin, he turning his face from side to side appraisingly. Long tendrils of thin grey hair, parted at the side, flopped against his taut scalp. He chose not to see the saggy jowls and beady eyes gazing back from his own image. In his mind he was in his prime and had been for the last 20 years, and he'd always liked what he saw, _not a man cursed with false modesty. _

He flinched at the sound of a door opening at the far side of the hall, and turning, he walked slowly to the table, sitting as if awaiting a good meal, fingers laced in front of him.

He closed his eyes and focused on the tip tap of the woman's stilettos on the marble floor getting louder and conjured up an image of her in his mind. If he were a man of leisure he would make a point of frequenting the vault just so he could smell her perfume.

He waited.

He was patient.

Waiting was no matter, he was good at it and it only increased the anticipation of the moment. She placed the package in front of him and stood tall. "Would you like to see anything else from your private collection today, Mr Warminger?"

He dismissed her with a withering glance. _Wouldn't do, to become too familiar with the help no matter how good they smelled._ She grabbed at her opportunity and hurried to the exit, making a point of not looking back.

Once he was alone, he leaned back, relaxed his fingers and slowly opened his eyes. He gracefully uncoiled the protective barriers of muslin that had shielded this rarity for the last decade, his expression turning lustful as his gaze feasted on the cracked, blood red, etched leather. Slowly he ran one latex covered finger over the buckled spine and felt a pulse of pure electricity ebb into his greying skin. He bent low and breathed in hard through his nose, allowing himself a smile. The smell of an old rare book was unique, like a fingerprint in history, and this particular fingerprint was going to make him a very rich man.

ooooo

The chapel was a thing of beauty. Grey stone walls contrasted against the surrounding dark earth and a heavy wooden double door sat squarely in the centre. Tall stained glass windows painted pictures of saints and angels, and with the sun going down they seemed to take on a life of their own, eddying between shadow and light.

Dean walked through the chapel's heavy wooden doors like he owned the place. '_Knowledge may be power Sammy, but balls of steel will take you places.'_

He was stopped in his tracks by a truck in a suit. The man stood close enough so Dean could see the pores in this skin and he didn't like it one bit. Every instinct told him to _'finish this bitch'_ and he felt the adrenaline surge through him in preparation for his patented 'fight or fight' response. _'Flight' was a word Dean Winchester never used anymore._

It took every ounce of self-control to just stand nose to collar bone with this mountain of muscle and do nothing, until a sharp, deep voice from the other end of the room snapped the tension. "Mr Steiner, so glad you could join us."

The mountain moved, allowing Dean his first view of the room's interior. The grey walls were lavish. Tapestries and carvings depicting the Stations of the Cross wound their way round the room, and there was a huge wooden table and two wooden carved chairs. The man who had spoken, sat at the head of the table, on the most ornate and throne like of the seats. He looked completely at home as he sat watching the new arrival.

'_And here we go' _Dean slowly grinned as he made his way to the table.

ooooo

Sam hunched behind the wheel of the impala and chewed his thumb nail. He had to give credit to Bobby; he'd chosen this location well, close enough to see the chapel but hidden enough to not be noticed. He held up the small binoculars and focused the lenses. He could just make out Bobby in his truck at the other end of the road. He was glad of the older man's presence, he seemed to be the calming influence both brothers needed right now.

He let out a slow sigh and rubbed at his temple. Since the death of the yellow eyed demon Sam had no visions, but the instinctive protectiveness he felt towards his brother was stronger than ever. It had only been three weeks since that night and the repercussions were going to last a long time.

Dean was on some kind of rebound, Sam was sure of that. He was throwing himself in the path of as much danger as he could find, as if taunting the reaper to come get him. Maybe he thought he _couldn't_ die, since he'd already been given his allotted time of exit.

The soft vibrate of his phone shook him from his thoughts. "What's going on, Bobby?"

"You see anything?"

"Not since Dean went in."

"Can't see a dammed thing from over here. Keep them peeled, Sam."

He closed his phone with a snap, and not for the first time offered up a whispered prayer that Dean would be able to keep his dammed mouth shut.

ooooo

"I am Mr Warminger and you are not quite what I expected Mr Steiner – if you don't mind me saying" The man stood from his stately position and moved round the table offering his hand. Dean ignored it. The man paused, and then withdrew, a smile on his lips that never quite reached his eyes.

"_You, on the other hand are exactly what I expected"_ Dean was aiming for arrogance and hit it head on. He sat without waiting to be invited and gazed at this host through the small dark lenses.

"Please, I meant no offence" The seller held up both hands palms out-stretched. "Merely thought you would be, _older_."

Dean felt a swift moment of alarm. Had this man met James Steiner? Did he have intel that Bobby had missed? That thought alone was comforting – Bobby never missed anything. _'Time to move this along'_ "I'm here to buy, Mr Warminger not to chat. Do you have the bible?"

"All things in good time Mr Steiner, have you brought the money?" The seller had returned to his seat, his fingertips pressed together at his lips as if in prayer.

"Until I see the merchandise…"

"You know what I have, Mr Steiner."

"I know what you _think_ you have, Mr Warminger." Dean used his best John Winchester commanding tone and waited for the inevitable.

Silence.

He was being tested.

Dean sat perfectly still, back braced against the hardwood chair, hands resting on the huge dinning table in front of him. He allowed his gaze to wander. The seller was flanked on the right by the bodyguard who had greeted Dean at the door. There was no question he had been chosen to look the part rather than for actual ability. Dean could think of five ways to take him down without even breaking a sweat. He turned his attention to the chapel.

'_Always know where your exits are, never leave you're back exposed and never go anywhere unarmed'._

The first two of John Winchesters cardinal rules were proving a challenge to say the least. The carefully positioned chair he sat in faced away from the door and the only other exit from this room was a flight of steps leading down from the far corner and going God knows where.

Suddenly, Warminger laughed out loud and clapped his hands together; he was enjoying the game. He gestured once in the direction of the man mountain, who turned on his heels and marched to the door. Both men sat and waited in silence.

It seemed like an age but was only a few minutes when they heard the creak of the hinge once again.

'_And here comes Tiny'. _The package was deposited with all due reverence on the table in front of its owner. It appeared to be as big as Sam's laptop but much deeper and looked a lot heavier and was shrouded in a thin white material.

Dean allowed himself a moment of relief. He'd really expected this to be a whole lot harder. He thought back to the hours spent with Sam, researching the Steiner collection for all he was worth, desperately searching for easy to remember information that would lend him credibility. If he was completely honest it had been Sam who'd done most of the actual researching. _Actually, it had been Sam who had done most of the remembering as well. _

Warminger's smile widened as he caught site of Dean eyeing the volume. He put out his hand palm up and took the pair of latex gloves from his minder, who then placed a second pair on the table next to Dean's hand.

"Mr Steiner, if you will? This book has not been touched by human hands in over a decade." It was more of a command than a request but it suited Dean's plans to get this over with as quickly as possible. He stood up slowly and put on the gloves, walking around the table till the two men were too close to each other to feel comfortable. And with the protective material discarded, Dean was finally able to see the bible for the first time.

The cover was dark crimson with a single Latin word etched into the surface of the leather. Dean frowned slightly as he traced the letters with one latex covered finger. _'Sanctified?'_

Somewhere in the recesses of Dean's memory an alarm bell started to sound. This was all wrong; this was not what he'd been expecting. Sammy had found a pretty definitive description of the bible they were after and this wasn't it.

He gently lifted the cover with his fingertip, the ancient spine giving with a crack as the books insides were laid bare. He took off his glasses and dropped them on the table out of the way. The transcript was handwritten and laced with mystical symbols. Some he recognised, some were a mystery but his eyes scanned the text set out in front of him. He wasn't able to translate much of it but what he could read sent his blood cold.

'_Eternal prison? No, that's… trapped for eternity…free from sin to co-exist in…''_

'…_the demon to dwell in the purgatory made sacred by…shit, SHIT, SHIT.' _The memory that'd been eluding Dean became absolute. He knew what this was; he knew _exactly_ what this was.

"Warminger, you need to listen to me _very _carefully, this is not what you think it is. This is something else" Dean was suddenly all hunter, his previous persona forgotten as his instincts took over. He looked the man square in the face as a dark shroud seemed to drop over his eyes. "Don't worry, I can help you. I know other people who can help but you have no idea how dangerous this thing is…we have to make sure…."

"Is this some kind of a joke? Are you trying to be funny Mr Steiner?" Warminger slammed the book closed and stripped off his gloves in one swift move, forcing Dean to take a faltering step back.

Dean squared up to the much shorter man "You _need_ to listen to me; you don't know what you've got there."

"No, Mr Steiner. _You_ need to listen to _me_, our business is concluded. You are not the first collector who has tried to trick me and you are not the only one interested in _this_." His hand ghosted over the surface of the leather as he spoke.

He cocked his head and addressed his bodyguard. "Mr Steiner is leaving!"

'_For a big guy, he moves pretty fast'_ Dean thought as he sidestepped to avoid the meat-mountain barrelling towards him. The larger man tried to twist and grab at Dean as he moved, but ended up falling against the table hard, grunting in anger and embarrassment as he pushed himself up. Dean felt a mild pang of guilt as he finished the big man off with one well placed uppercut to the sweet spot on the corner of his jaw. He felt Tiny go down with a moan. _'Bigger they are harder they fall was never so true.'_

He looked up and stared at Warminger. He wouldn't have long before Tiny recovered and he needed to convince them both how much danger they were in. For the first time Dean registered a look of panic reflected in the other man's eyes. Dean saw Warminger stretch out his hand towards the book.

He saw, as oily fingertips made contact with the antiquated cover.

Suddenly the room became intensely bright. A piercing shriek split the air forcing Dean onto his knees with hands pressed tightly against his ears. It seemed to go on for ever and Dean forced his eyes open, trying to see what he was up against. The first image he could identify was Warminger in the centre of the room, standing on his toes, arms outstretched as if held in place by invisible bonds. His face was twisted in a creased silent scream of pure agony as ropes of sticky pulsing light flowed from his fingers and out of his mouth and eyes. He was convulsing now as his body was lifted higher and higher till he became a suspended crucifix over the table. Tendrils of fire burning hotter than lava inched their way slowly from his outstretched fingertips into the wooden floor.

The heat was unnatural and was moving incredibly fast. The room was filling with swirls of hot gritty smoke making it hard to breath and Dean could see the fire incinerating everything in its path. He grabbed Tiny by the collar and pulled him under the wooden table knowing this was a temporary measure at best. Keeping his head close to the floor, he desperately peered through the thickening smoke and saw the door. It was an inferno of crackling wood and spitting flame. Too thick to break through, and they wouldn't be alive long enough to wait till it burned._ 'So, the door not an option then.'_

Frantically, he pulled at his pocket feeling the mobile in his hand. As he pushed Sam on speed dial, Tiny rolled over landing a hard shoulder into Dean's hand sending the phone skittered out of his reach just as Sam picked up. The last sound Dean heard was Sam's voice calling his name as the wood of the floor gave a sickening groan and collapsed, taking Dean, Tiny, and the table with it into the depths below.

TBC


	2. Chapter 2 Fire of known origin

Bearer of all Light

Chapter 2 - Fire of known origin.

Sam was already running before he saw the stained glass window burst its frame, sending splinters of scalpel sharp debris into the ground below. It had all happened so suddenly. One minute he was watching the chapel, phone in hand ready to call Bobby; the next he was deafened by an ear shattering wail. When he saw the red fingers of fire taunting him through the windows he'd sprinted to the churchyard like a man possessed, the heat radiating from the small chapel searing his face as he was beaten back from the doors.

The phone in his hand started to vibrate and he snapped it open at the sight of Dean's name.

"_Dean__?"_

No answer, just the roaring hiss of the ferocious fire. _"DEAN"_

The line went dead, leaving Sam with nothing more than his brother's name flashing on the screen.

ooooo

Dean didn't know how far he had fallen; he only knew he'd landed on his belly on top of something soft. The huge dinning table was on its side, the edge digging into the soft earth at his left shoulder. He could smell smoke and bile in equal measure and just managed to turn his head before his last meal shot from his mouth. He coughed and spat to clear his airway, only then realised he'd thrown up all over Tiny's shirt. _' Urgh - he's gonna be pissed when he wakes up.'_

Gradually Dean became aware of his surroundings. He was in some sort of a crypt, it was dark but the illumination from the fire above cast enough light to get by. He squinted upwards and could see the hole in the floor directly above him. It was a good thirty feet up and he'd no hope of reaching it even if he wanted to. He could still hear the thunderous roar of the inferno that'd once been the chapel, could still smell the smoke threatening to smother him with every breath. He needed to get the hell out of there fast.

Dean reached out to Tiny and placed a hand to his throat, no pulse. He looked harder and realised that Tiny _was_ the soft thing that broke his fall. The huge man was twisted and broken; his body lying in a contorted shape that couldn't hope to possess life. Dean placed a hand on his shoulder and looked into his glazed sightless eyes. Yet another had died to save Dean's life and the pang of remorse hit him hard. _'Oh Hell, don't think, don't think, don't think.'_

The memory of the night's events came flooding back like a tide_._ Images of fire, a tortured body being ripped to the bone with blades of light, he could still hear the screaming, still feel the heat, still see the book…. _'Oh Christ, the Book.'_

He took a sharp breath and gasped as pain shot through his side, his right arm protected his ribs out of habit. With laboured breathing, he started to crawl onto his knees. The black suit jacket he wore seemed to have protected him to a certain degree, but he could feel the familiar sticky heat of blood on his face and head. Gingerly, he touched his temple, and realised he still wore the thin latex glove on his left hand. He glanced at his right, it was bloody where the plastic had ripped from him in the fall and all that was left was the plastic band at his wrist.

But there was no time to think about injuries, if that book was down here he had to find it.

He used his left hand to grip the edge of the upturned table and carefully hauled himself to his feet. Scanning the floor he could see assorted debris littering the ground. Fragments of the broken floorboards smouldered and spat embers as he paced around the table. And there, in the middle of the floor, Dean found what he was searching for.

It looked exactly as it had the first moment he'd set eyes on it. There was no charring, no twisted scorch marks, nothing at all to show the books recent history. Dean swallowed, he wasn't looking forward to touching it but what choice did he have. The alternative was to leave it here for God knows who or what to find. It was bad enough this thing had come to light at all, but to have it fall into the wrong hands… He cautiously removed his jacket and threw it over the leather cover.

Nothing happened.

Throwing caution to the wind, Dean grabbed the book, quickly wrapping the jacket around it. He expertly tied the arms together completely concealing it from view and held it close to his chest, taking two steps back just in time to avoid another hail of burning embers, cascading from the destroyed room above.

ooooo

"_DEAN"_

Sam ran to the other side of the building, wildly searching for a point of entry, but there was none. The window frames were starting to buckle and fall from their perch in the walls, and at least one beam had fallen from the roof and been consumed by the fiery pit inside. All Sam could think of was that his brother was in there alone, and burning and _this wasn't meant to happen for a year_. He had a whole year to figure it out, this couldn't be happening now.

Sam couldn't think straight, couldn't focus. Numbness was slowly overtaking him as he clenched his hands to his temples. _He'd lost Dean, he'd lost his brother and he'd lost_ _himself_. Stumbling and unsteady on his feet, he started towards the door taking no mind of the blazing heat radiating from the wood.

"_SAM__, NO" _Bobby's plea fell on deaf ears and he raced to reach Sam before it was too late. It took all of his strength to restrain him, but he couldn't loose them both, he just couldn't. He knew his own grieving would have to wait and he knew the only way to stop Sam following Dean into that firestorm was to give him hope that his brother was alive and may have found a way out. It was a false hope, slim at best, but he was just as sure that if he didn't stop him, Sam would leap right into the fiery depth of hell to save his brother.

"Sam, _SAM, LISTEN TO ME!" _Bobby fisted his hands in Sam's shirt and pulled him away from the tragedy unfolding in front of them. "There's an underground, Sam. _SAM,_ _LOOK AT ME"_

Closing his eyes, Sam could barely hear. History was repeating itself. First Mary on the ceiling, then Jessica and now Dean…and he couldn't face it. Couldn't think of what it must be like in there, what it meant to burn to death. He opened watery eyes on Bobby, and could see the same despair in the older man's gaze.

"_SAM,_ there's still a chance, but we've gotta act now, there ain't much time" The desperation he heard in Bobby's voice forced Sam back to reality with a jolt. '_Still a chance, there was still a chance' _

He followed Bobby as he raced back to the truck and tore open the cab door. He pulled at the books, folders and papers that had been neatly stacked on the passenger seat leaving a chaotic mess until he found what he wanted.

"Look. _LOOK_. Sam. Underground. Gotta be some kinda catacombs or crypt. He could have got down there, could have found a way out." He gestured to the plans as Sam fought to concentrate on the diagrams in front of him.

"Gotta find another entrance." Sam's voice sounded small and lost, but was growing in intensity with each breath "He'll need help Bobby; we gotta _find another entrance_."

There was nothing left to say. Bobby handed Sam his torch and .38, and picked up the 12 gauge, and map in hand, they started on what was most likely a doomed rescue mission.

ooooo

Warminger was drowning in a sea boiling water, his lungs too full of fluid to hold breath, but his body incapable of death.

He knew he had been invaded by something, could feel the icy track it took through his arteries. There was no pain just a terrifying all consuming emptiness that robbed him of his will.

There was no chance of him fighting; there just wasn't enough of _him_ left. At the start he had been fearful but even that had dissipated, replaced by a cold resignation and a burning desire for the freedom it now tasted.

Looking down through the floor, it saw the yellow haired man pick up the book that'd once been its prison; it saw the man leave, and the demon followed.

ooooo

Dean's head was throbbing. _So what was new?_ A quick scan of the chamber revealed one entrance that seemed to lead back up to the chapel, and another that lead into a tunnel heading who knows where. He checked his pockets; one lighter, a small bottle of accelerant, _'seemed like a good idea at the time' _three blue M&M's and his small silver blade. The pistol he'd so carefully hidden in the small of his back had vanished, most likely buried in the rubble and there was no sign of his mobile phone.

The tunnel was narrow and barely high enough for Dean to stand upright. He held the bundle under the crook of his right arm, his injured right hand hanging loosely by his side, and flicking his lighter, he could make out a few feet in front of him.

'_Slow progress but better than nothing.'_ Dean started walking, concentrating on putting one foot in front of the other. It wouldn't be long before he found an exit. There was just no way this was a dead end… '_There was just_ _absolutely no freaking way._'

ooooo

Sam pushed at the ancient door to the vault and peered inside. The small beam of light from his torch could just make out the walls of a long forgotten chamber. Dust, dirt and cobwebs covered everything and the air was rank with stale oxygen. "Bobby, this _can't_ be it, it doesn't go anywhere."

Bobby examined the map one more time. "No, this is it, just gotta know where to look." Both men scanned the tomb for any signs of an opening. After a few tense moments of searching, Bobby broke the silence. "Here, Sam, I think I got it."

Sam was next to him in an instant. There was a small trap-door opening in the floor, barely big enough for one man to crawl through. Bobby poked his head and arm through the gap and swung his torch from side to side. After a moment of looking he pushed his way into the tunnel, and called to Sam, his voice barely audible. "C'mon Sam were burnin' daylight here."

ooooo

Dean had been walking for what felt like forever through the winding tunnels. It'd always amazed him how time could rush by so fast when the world was good, but drag painfully slow when events turned sour. He trudged forward and idly wondered if the universe was conspiring to make his life suck, or if it was just the way of the world.

'_What now__?' _Dean stopped, suddenly aware of a familiar tight feeling in the pit of his stomach. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing up, and a slight shiver ran through his spine. He knew this feeling, he knew it well; he was being watched.

He paused, for just a heartbeat, shook his head and cast a glance over his shoulder into the void; there was nothing there._ 'Stupid, what are you now… afraid of the dark? Jeez.' _He reached out numb fingertips and felt the slight cool of the wall next to him. In a strange way it was a reassuring constant. He hugged the book a little tighter to his chest and continued down the tunnel, following the tiny oasis that was his lighter.

Within three steps Dean knew he was in trouble. A beam of hot bright energy shot past his right shoulder barely missing his ear and fizzed as it hit the tunnel wall. He hissed and ducked down as he pivoted to try and see where the attack had come from, straining his eyes and peering into the endless black, and suddenly the surroundings grew sunburst bright and Dean gaped at what he saw.

It was Warminger…"_no"_…it _had been_ Warminger.

The creature stood completely still and looked at Dean from inside Warminger's ruined body, his blackened empty eye sockets containing only white phosphorous. The skin on his face was torn and ragged but there was no blood, only light. Hot blinding light that now spewed from every aperture into the darkness and dribbled like molten metal down the contours of his face. Slowly Warminger lifted twisted, broken fingers towards the huddled figure in front of him.

Dean truly didn't know whether this creature wanted him or the book, but it didn't matter, neither was going to happen. So he did what he knew he could. He allowed his mind to bury the pain in his abused body and let fear kick start his adrenaline, then pushed himself up from the wall, turned tail and ran like his life depended on it.

He quickly lost all sense of direction, bruised shoulders bumping roughly against the jagged walls. The tunnel twisted and turned and seemed to go on forever but he refused to slow down. With his lighter long since gone, he was reduced to dragging his elbow against the jagged walls to give himself a rough idea as to where to place his feet. His breathing was coming in short bursts now and he was pretty sure he wasn't getting enough oxygen but he couldn't stop even if he wanted to - because that thing was right behind him, and besides…he wasn't sure he remembered how.

ooooo

Sam motioned to Bobby and both men froze, switching off their torches. He was sure he'd seen a faint glow coming from up ahead but it was gone now so he couldn't be sure. As his eyes adapted to the dark he noticed the sound for the first time. It was a wheezing, pounding…like someone running…_fast. _

'_Dean?'_

Sam didn't stop to think. He switched his torch back on and started sprinting in the direction of the sound, only vaguely aware of Bobby at his heels, calling his name, but he didn't want to listen. All he could do was focus on the sound in front of him. He knew he was close when he neared the next turn, but he didn't realise just how close until he was taken off his feet by the force of his brother barrelling into him full pelt.

Both men landed in a sweaty heap of tangled legs in front of Bobby but Sam was the first to recover his wits. "Dean. DEAN?" He hefted his brother by the shoulders. "_You got out, you got out, man, I KNEW you'd get out"_

Dean looked stunned, both arms still wrapped tightly around his chest protecting the book. He gasped as his winded body tried to drag in a breath and glanced once in Bobby's direction. "We ha… ta, g a… ut…" Dean panted and bent his head low between his brother's arms. Looking up again, he breathed in and tried more urgently. "_Gotagetout,_ _NOW"_

Bobby eyes were wide and starring straight past Dean's shoulder. Something was there in the grey distance, looking right back at him. Something giving off a kind of glow, a luminescent, not exactly ghostly but….not exactly…

"What in the hell…" Bobby's voice was a whisper as his eyes registered the figure at the end of the tunnel. He raised his shotgun, unloaded both salt barrels into the glowing carcass and saw the holes appear in the papery skin as it split open letting more light seep through, but the injury made little impact. He swallowed hard, this didn't look like any demon he'd ever faced before and he knew they were sorely unprepared for a fight. As if reading his mind Sam grabbed Dean by the back of his collar and hauled him out of there by brute force, Bobby stumbling after.

ooooo

The journey back to the vault had been a frantic scramble. Sam had set the pace with freakishly long strides that Bobby had barely been able to keep up with, while Dean had hardly been able to breathe, let alone speak.

When they reached the vault, Dean stumbled, landing hard on his knees and if it hadn't been for Sam he would have pitched face first into the unforgiving concrete floor. Gesturing to Bobby to keep going, Sam helped his brother back onto his feet and out into the night as Bobby sprinted to his truck, then returned with the provisions they'd need to halt this creature. Holy water, salt, charms, in fact anything and everything he could think of that might have an effect. He got to work, laying incantations and salting the ground, working by the opening in the floor of the vault for as long as he dared.

Outside, Dean managed five steps before his knees finally gave way, and as Sam held tight to his brother's shoulder, his body folded in on itself, finally giving in to the numbing exhaustion born of pain. Sam managed to step and shift just in time to help Dean sit, his back braced against Sam's chest.

"Hey man, come on, stay with me, Dean." He urgently stripped off his over shirt and held it folded over the large bleeding cut running along Dean's hairline.

"M'fine… Smy."

Dean's breathing was starting to settle, and feeling almost embarrassed at how reassured he felt by the feel of Sam at his back, he allowed himself to ease a little, and felt his brother tense to take his weight as one long arm snaked around Dean's middle.

"Gonna be good man, your fine now, we found you, gonna be fine."

Dean wasn't sure if the words were meant to comfort him or Sam, but he was absurdly glad to hear them anyway. The adrenaline burst that'd saved his life in the tunnel was wearing thin and being replaced by intense throbbing pain. He tried to move to get more comfortable and it was then that he realised that he still held the book protectively against his chest.

"Man, this blood's turning your hair pink. Hey, you saved the bible?" Sam leaned forward and took hold of the knotted arms of Dean's jacket but wasn't prepared for the reaction he got. Dean stiffened and twisted, pushing Sam away with what little strength he had left, the bloody makeshift bandage falling from his head as he worked himself up onto his protesting knees and faced his brother.

"…_not bible…don't let…touch you." _

Each breath stabbed at Dean's ribs with a relentless accuracy, every wave worse than the last. There was something buzzing in front of his eyes, threatening to fly into his face and he lifted one hand cautiously, letting the book fall in front of him and swatted at the imaginary insect darting around his head. Sam was saying something but he couldn't make it out - he had to get that damned fly, had to do something_…important._

Dean saw his brother moving in slow motion towards him, and his mouth open and close, but he couldn't hear what he was saying. He idly wondered if maybe Sam was trying to swat the same bug, and with that, Dean pitched forward onto the earth as he was released from all conscious thought, and this time, his brother wasn't fast enough to catch him.

TBC

Thank you so much for all the reviews guys; they are always a great encouragement.


	3. Chapter 3 Book of revelations

Bearer of all Light

Chapter 3 - Book of revelations

Clothes long since turned to ash, the surface of Warminger's body couldn't be called skin anymore.

It pulsed and bubbled with energy, flaking and shedding as the demon surged through it.

He went through the motions of placing one charred foot in front of the other, slowly inching back towards the smouldering chamber below the chapel. He'd been halted in his pursuit of the yellow haired man by invisible barriers, shields he was not yet strong enough to penetrate.

It wanted its freedom, had tasted it for the first time in nearly an age and was intoxicated by the power.

ooooo

Sam could only watch as his brother took a nose dive into the soft brown dirt. _"Shit, shit, shit!" _He reached him fast and rolled him onto his side, bracing Dean's head against his shoulder. At the same time Bobby came running from the vault and skidded to a halt beside the brothers. Scanning Dean for injuries he quickly knelt down and felt for a pulse. '_Strong and regular, take more than this to snuff out a Winchester.'_

Pointing to the bundle on the floor, Bobby looked to Sam. "Is that it? Is that the bible?"

"Don't think so, he said something before he passed out, said it was dangerous and not to touch it. Whatever it is it's freaked him out, Bobby."

The older man looked from the tied jacket, to the prone form on the floor that was Dean. Glancing back, he thoughtfully drew a rough hand through his greying beard and then moved towards the mystery book and slowly untied the knotted arms of Dean's jacket, allowing the material to fall open. As the contents were revealed Bobby froze, mouth agape, eyes roaming over the crimson cover and golden lettering.

Sam had never seen Bobby Singer shocked by anything before in his life and it unnerved him. Whatever this thing was it had Dean running scared and Bobby looking like a man who'd just found out he'd won the lottery but lost his ticket.

"_Well God damn!"_ Bobby whispered, then quickly composed himself and refolded the jacket around the book, careful not to touch any part of the cover. He tied the arms firmly, knotting them as tight as he could and glanced up at the brothers just in time to see Dean thrashing in his brothers arms.

ooooo

Dean could feel Sam doing _that thing_ he always did when he was overcome with concern for his brother; he always held him way too tight. He swatted at Sam and winced as his broken fingers made contact with a hard shoulder. _"Youch! Persssonl space dude…ged off a mee_" Dean was swamped by the surreal feeling that someone else was speaking. _'What in hell do I sound like?'_

He could hear his brother talking to someone; something about getting into a truck…and a book…and getting to the hospital, coming back later to pick up the impa… '_Oh, no, no, no._' That last part got Dean's full attention, a wave of vertigo hitting him as he fought to open weighted eyelids.

"Dean?" He heard that other voice again and tried to turn towards it.

"DEAN." Louder this time, easier to follow. "Its Bobby, can you hear me, son?" He felt a rough calloused hand on his cheek and someone's face way to close for comfort. "You had us going there for a minute, how you doing?"

"Bobby?" Voice still embarrassingly weak, Dean fought to sit up and felt himself gently lifted so he could face the others. "Did it follow us out?"

Bobby knelt facing him, one hand braced under his elbow. "No, but we need to get back to the chapel so that I can seal it in, can you walk?"

"What do I look like? An invalid?"

Even weakened, Dean still managed to ooze bad attitude and Sam decided to speak his mind. "Honestly? Well _yeah…_actually."

Dean scowled up at him and pushed himself from the ground. Both Bobby and Sam tried to help but he efficiently brushed them both aside, barely allowing Sam time to replace the makeshift bandage round his head. "Dude, remind me later, we _so_ need to talk about touching." He swayed slightly and glanced in earnest at his brother, raising his eyebrow and wincing as the action pulled at his head wound.

"Get over yourself, man, you need help so stop acting like an ass." Sam's voice was indignant as he returned Dean's scowl.

"Said I'm good, Sammy, now hands off the mer…"

Dean craned his neck, suddenly aware of his surroundings. His eyes raced over the ground searching for the book that'd destroyed Warminger in a matter of seconds. _"Where is it, where's the book, what have you done with the book?"_

Trying to calm him down Bobby gently placed a hand on Dean's shoulder and gestured, directing his gaze to the neatly tied jacket on the gravel between them. "I know what it is Dean, and if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes I might still think it was a myth, but hell…" he paused "….looks real enough from where I'm standing."

"Real enough to turn Warminger into a human firework, just by touching it."

Bobby paused for a long moment and looked up to the night sky. "Ah Hell," he repeated under his breath.

Sam looked from Dean to Bobby and back. "Um, someone want to explain to me what's going on?"

Dean just nodded, the material still pressed tight to his head. "Tell you on the way, Sammy, let's make a move."

ooooo

Sitting in the front passenger seat of Bobby's truck as they raced back to the chapel, Dean sighed, this wasn't going to be easy. Maybe he could gloss over the really bad bits and save Sammy the guilt trip. _'O.K., here goes nothing.'_ He focused on a spot of oil on the dashboard and started, haltingly, to tell what he knew.

"Look, Sammy, it's like this. A few weeks after you left for Stanford dad and me, well, we were having a few problems. Kinda found it hard to work together and, well anyway, I ran into another hunter, guy called Jacob Hearn. He convinced me to help him out on a job and told me about this book he'd been looking for. It was his obsession, he'd been at it fifteen years straight and he was closing in."

Dean chanced a look at his brother but couldn't see the expression on his face in the dark cab. Not being able to read Sam was making him nervous so he opted to persevere and get this over with. "He called it _'consecro'_ and said it was a kind of prison for demonic energy, a way to permanently hold them in everlasting torment, a real hell for demons. And seeing as I always thought sending them back to the pit wasn't so bad, as that's where most of them came from anyway – the idea had a certain appeal."

The truck swayed and bumped as Bobby stepped on the gas. He was listening intently to Dean's story as he drove and it was becoming harder to concentrate on the road.

"Had a good description of it too; blood red cover, the one word etched in gold on the front, and the seals of the seven gates branded inside forming the original devils trap. He said that as long as the seals were intact there was no escape for what was inside. He also said that if any of the seals were ever broken, just one touch would release the evil from within."

Dean paused and cleared his throat before continuing, eyes still glued to the dashboard. _'Just gloss over it Dude.'_ "Thing is…" he paused again, choosing his words carefully "…dad found out that Jacob was trying to convince me to hunt with him, and things got a bit …ugly. He left and I never heard from him again, never even thought about that book till now." Dean looked directly at Sam and tried to fathom the look on his brother's face, the tension in the truck almost painful.

It was Sam who was first to speak, his voice quiet, slow and measured. "You considered leaving dad?"

Dean rolled his eyes. "So not the point I was trying to make there, Sammy." He'd just known his brother would hone in on the truth like a hillbilly to his banjo.

"_You act__ually considered leaving dad to go hunting with someone else?"_ Louder now, Sam's eyes were wide in disbelief.

"_Yeah Sam, I considered it__, but I didn't. OK?" _

Sam slumped back in the rear of the truck, completely stunned and Bobby shifted uncomfortably behind the wheel. "Looks like it's a day for revelations ain't it, now how about we get back on track. Both of you start going through them books in the back, were gonna need the most powerful summoning and binding spell we got. And we need to know what those seven seals look like."

ooooo

Warminger found his way back to the crypt and looked up through the hole in the chapel's floor.

Through the swirling smoke and drifting embers he could see the night sky; see the stars.

The last time he had tasted this reality he'd been young, eager to experience the human soul.

But now he was older and deeply jaded by the enforced imprisonment.

He knew this body was no good; he needed something stronger, more resilient, and something younger. A host that would put up a fight and show some spirit, right up until the time the demon could consumed its essence and wear its body like a cheap suit. Slowly climbing the stairs leading to the chapel, the demon started a hunt of its own.

ooooo

Using the light from the full moon, the three hunters slowly crept towards the still smouldering chapel, weighted down with gear and unsure of what they would find.

As they got closer, their greatest fears were confirmed. There in the centre of the remaining flames was the creature; its body burning blue, seeming to grow stronger with every second that passed as it fed off the incandescent fire. It moved slowly but with a sense of purpose, clearly making its way towards the graveyard and the dark woods beyond. Bobby spoke under his breath "So what in hell do we do now?"

Dean was bent low, looking over Bobby's shoulder his green eyes never once leaving the demon as it moved around the wreckage. "We stop it, Bobby, we put the damn thing back in the book and this time we throw away the key."

"Well, can't do nothing while it's right there in front of us, and we can't let it run into some unsuspecting civilian. We're gonna have to distract it so we can lay the trap as best we can, once we start the summoning spell it should be dragged back to the book."

"Should?" Sam didn't like the sound of those odds.

Bobby wanted to give both boys the reassurance they needed, but he had learned long ago that where Winchesters are concerned, honesty was definitely the best policy. "Ain't exactly done this one before Sam, and I'm kind of hoping to never have to do it again. So, you gonna lead this sorry son of a bitch away or am I?"

"Whoa, hold your horses, where was my invite to this party?" Dean bristled at the idea of Sam putting himself in danger and he wasn't too happy about Bobby doing it either. "The plan is I distract it, while you two lay the trap and set the spell."

Sam didn't even look as his brother as he spoke. "Yeah, nice try, Dean, but you're not fit to do anything except rest right now. I can lead it away and be back to help Bobby with the summoning, look how slow it moves."

"Dude, no way are you doing that."

Sam was losing patience. "Dean, just look at yourself will you, you can barely stand."

"Fine, we settle this the old fashioned way." Dean swung round till he faced his brother, held up one clenched fist in front of Sam's face and waited. "You ready?"

Sam gaped at him in disbelief before mirroring the action and both men side-punched the air three times, Dean coming up with rock to Sam's paper.

The younger man grinned and swivelled on his heels back to face the chapel as Dean patted him gently on the shoulder. "Well done, Sammy, the better man won. Guess I get to go then!" He grabbed Sam's shirt, using him for leverage and sending him reeling backwards into the mud. Before Bobby could halt him, Dean had launched himself from the cover of the graves and into the path of the blazing demon as Sam scrambled to his feet, too late to do anything except shout in frustration. _"Dean you stupid ass."_

Waving his left arm to get its attention, Dean shouted as loud as he could. "Hey, _HEY._ Remember me? You know, Warminger, you really have let yourself go you sorry son of a bitch, should take more of a pride in your appearance, FREAK"

As soon as he was sure he had been spotted Dean turned and lumbered along the gravel, through the gravestones and out into the woodland beyond. He chanced a quick look over his shoulder and was rewarded by the sight of the Warminger demon zeroing in on him. Still protecting his right hand, he swung hard left and ducked behind a large cottonwood. The blast that cracked the opposite side of the bark took him by surprise and he gagged as the scorching smoke and hot ash coiled around the tree. _'This was so not one of my best ideas.'_

Dean picked up his pace and made for the denser undergrowth, he knew he only had to play this game of cat and mouse long enough for Sam and Bobby to set things up, and he also knew both men worked quickly.

ooooo

Bobby grabbed Sam's arm just in time to prevent him from once again following his brother. He was going to need help with this one and the faster they worked the better. "Sam, let him go, he knows what he's doin' and he'll be OK." He could feel the younger man shaking with anger next to him and see the moody pout on his face.

"_He never knows what he's doing Bobby. I swear he makes it up as he goes along, and one day soon he's gonna run out of luck."_ Sam heard his own voice tremble with frustration.

Bobby spoke softly, "Only 'luck' you Winchesters ever had was bad, and he's used to dealing with that, so let him be and let's get to work." He tilted his head in the direction of the spitting remains of the chapel and set off along the ground, keeping low as he went.

Watching the demon disappear into the woods after Dean, Sam wheeled round to follow Bobby, and silently prayed they could work faster than Warminger's body could run.

ooooo

Dean wasn't sure he could have gone any faster even if he'd wanted to, but at least he wouldn't lose his tracker in the dark. His plan was to lead Warminger in a sweeping circle, bringing him right back to where they started and hope they didn't run into anyone out this late at night. But since when had a Winchester plan ever gone as expected.

The second time Dean chanced to look around he saw only the dark trees and the gloomy unkempt bushes, the burning light of the demon was nowhere to be seen. He slowed almost to a stop and twisted on his heels unsure of what to do. Had the demon returned to the chapel? If it had, it would be a direct threat to Sam and Bobby. He turned a full circle and listened intently but could hear only the sounds of the forest. A deep instinct told him to stay still; not follow his heart and race to his brother's side, soo he held his ground, and for a full two minutes, Dean concentrated on his surroundings; willing himself to see deeper into the murky darkness.

Then, as though someone flipped a switch, the forest was flooded with light, burning and dazzling at the same time, throwing the winding branches and foliage into sharp relief. Dean staggered back two steps as the brilliance engulfed him and felt his shirt singe and burn, erupting with painful heat. Crying out in pain he threw himself to the ground and rolled to extinguish the material, gasping as he realised the demon had cut him off. It had got in front of him and was now herding him like an animal to slaughter. For the second time in as many hours Dean scrambled to his feet, holding his ribs protectively, and ran for his life.

Despite the pain in his side, he moved lightly on his feet, constantly changing direction. He couldn't believe this thing had outwitted him. _'How was that even possible? Dad, I'm glad your not here to see this, I would never live it down.' _In his periphery Dean saw yet more movement and threw himself onto his knees to avoid another bolt of white hot light skimming towards him. _'Jeez, that was close.' _He got to his feet and was moving again, weaving through the trees as fast as he could go.

The demon could see its victim running through the maze of trees and waited for the right moment. When it saw its chance, it shot a bolt over Dean's head causing him to spin round and face his enemy. At the same time it fixed powerful bands of light round a large boulder, lifting it effortlessly into the air and throwing it at Dean as though it were as light as a feather.

It hit him square in the chest sending him sprawling backwards into the huge pine tree behind him. Dean felt all the air blast from his lungs as he hit the tree trunk and sank to the ground with a shudder, clutching at his chest and desperately trying to suck in oxygen. A spasm ran through his diaphragm and he lurched as his lungs finally kick started, black dots dancing in front of his eyes.

The demon saw nothing but a body ripe for possession. He hissed at the man huddled in front of him and tasted the responding fear. He could also taste defiance and regret mixed into a delicious cocktail of emotions. But the strongest sensation bleeding from the crouching man was guilt, deep seated, raw and very appetising. The demon's face slowly contorted into a sickening, smiling grimace as it realised it had found a new body to inhabit. A better body; whole and mostly healthy, this one would last a long time. Slowly it closed the distance, extending blackened finger bones towards its prey.

Dean never believed people really saw their lives flash before their eyes as they were about to meet their end. He'd faced death many times before, and always been blissfully vision free. Now, the images that assaulted his senses were too vivid to be memories, making him fixate on the most trivial details.

He saw his own undone shoelace and worried he may fall as he raced down the stairs with his baby brother in his arms. It was the day he swore to protect Sam with his life as their mother burned above.

He saw small white petals sinking into muddy ground. It was his mother's memorial service. Faces he'd never seen before, and would never see again offering hasty condolences, his father standing hunched and empty as Sam cried.

He saw a small broken cup sitting on a windowsill slowly filling with rain water. It was the day Sam left for a life without him as he stood watching from the kitchen window, the sky shedding the tears he couldn't.

And he saw his brother, on his knees grimacing in pain. As he ran to his side he saw the light leave Sam's eyes as his brother's essence was extinguished like a spent match. Dean saw all these things and more, as he sat bent and bleeding against the tree. Finally overcome with weakness he closed his eyes and almost eagerly waited for the inevitable.

TBC


	4. Chapter 4 Back in the fold

Bearer of all Light

Chapter 4 – Back in the fold

The ritual to summon and bind the demon was complex to say the least, all powerful black spells were, but this one demanded a sacrifice of blood.

Bobby's trap had only taken five minutes to draw in the soot covered clearing, the large pentagram and sigils easy to create in the thick dark ash. At each point stood bronze ceremonial bowls containing herbs and a potion made from blessed oils and cracked bones, and at the very centre lay the book, open and exposed in the moonlight.

Bobby stood just off centre with arms outstretched whilst Sam stood to his left, holding up a small silver dagger. The older hunter swayed gently, descending into a self induced trance and mumbling the words of the summoning over and over, and at the appointed time, Sam stepped forward and sliced deep into Bobby's forearm catching the crimson liquid in a waiting bowl. Ever the professional, Bobby never flinched, his voice a strong, unwavering power in the night as he repeated the mantra.

Once he'd collected enough blood, Sam ran to each bowl in turn and smeared the tiny pieces of bone…and the spell was complete.

Bobby stopped reciting and looked at Sam. "It's done. Get out of here, Sam. Go find you're brother!" Sam didn't need to be told twice.

He grabbed the shotgun with proper cartridges, _'no salt rounds this time',_ and a plastic bottle of holy water and sprinted for the woods, calling to Bobby over his shoulder as he went. "Bobby. Don't wait for me!"

Bobby was already picking up the pages of the final summoning incantation and running to the apex of the pentagram, his clear and commanding voice ordering the demon to materialise in the centre.

ooooo

Sam had no trouble following the tracks of scorch marks and broken, smouldering twigs that littered the path, and he made no attempt at stealth; he was far too worried and anxious to find his brother. He jumped a felled log with ease, and then hesitated when he saw a sudden burst of light in the distance. It had to be the demon. The knowledge of how close he was spurred him on to greater speed and he pushed through the brambles, leading with the barrel of his shotgun.

As he got closer, the scene became clearer and Sam could see the demon stalking towards the hunched figure on the ground, trapping him against the smouldering tree trunk. He gasped when he saw his brother's face, pained and bleeding. There was no cocky grin, no glib last words…just total resignation.

ooooo

Warminger lunged with unimaginable speed, grasping both sides of Dean's head with gnarled, twisted hands and he could do nothing but cry out as the stinging sweat on his cheek sizzled at the contact, his face burning under the demon's touch. Scorched, blackened fingernails scratched up his face, tracking from his jaw to his temples in one fluid motion.

Dean tried to tear his eyes away from that corrupt charcoal face, but he couldn't.

Warminger was forcing him to stare into empty eye sockets, his head bent so close he could see the blood vessels swelling and popping as the monster's anticipation rose. The demon could clearly sense the emptiness reflected in the green eyes of the man huddled in front of him, and he was enjoying the moment, as well as the sweet tasting smell of burning meat and Dean let out a raw scream as the demon started to dig bony fingers deeper into his flesh.

"_Dean.__"_

Sam didn't hesitate; he swung the shotgun and took aim at the creature's body, firing as he ran. He didn't dare try for a head shot; the demon's face was way too close to his brother's, but he saw the hole appear in Warminger's side, leaving a trail of black gristle hanging from the wound. Slowly the demon let go of Dean's face and looked down at his own injury, then he craned his neck, turning his attention from Dean, to his brother.

As he skidded to a halt not six feet from them, Sam swung his arm wildly, spraying the creature with huge droplets of holy water. He'd no idea what effect it would have, if any, but he had to try…had to do something. _"Get away from him, get back."_

The water hit its target and smoked and spat on the demon's hide, but instead of burning, it merely transformed the already red glowing heat, to cold vacant black. The demon lowered his head and examined the damage to his chest and abdomen, examining the long dark seams crisscrossing what was left of the host's body and he scowled in irritation.

Sam felt a surge of hope as he realised he could cause damage to this creature in front of him and raised his arm again, hoping to douse the monster once more, but he had no time. With one swift move; Warminger uncoiled a dozen threads of light around as much debris as he could find, and sent a hail of rocks, broken trees and dirt flying at Sam's head.

He tried to duck but never stood a chance, there was no way he could avoid it all, and as he swerved to dodge a jagged rock, he felt a broken tree trunk smash into his leg, pinning him to the mossy ground.

Warminger smiled and slowly turned back to the yellow haired man. He'd already established a connection with this one, had already tasted his essence and he yearned to finish what he'd started.

He stopped two arms length away from his victim and raised both hands, extending tendrils of burning light that dribbled from his fingers and inched their way towards Dean, wrapping around his ankles and wrists. Slowly the demon lifted him from against the tree, high up into the air, his arms forced outwards into a grotesque parody of the way the creature had crucified Warminger.

Sam thrashed, desperately trying to get free, but could only lie pinned under the tree and watch as the demon tortured his brother, and cry out in rage and frustration at his lack of power to act. _"DEAN? Don't touch him, leave him alone."_

It was time; the demon was ready to consume its new host. Reaching out with a dark malevolent spirit, the first tentative contact was made…

…and then abruptly broken as a primeval influence compelled the demon back inside Warminger.

He stood, puzzled for just a moment before it felt the second pull, double the intensity and impossible to ignore. Throwing its head back it let out an ear splitting wail as the summoning took hold, and he was wrenched, kicking and howling back to the chapel.

ooooo

Bobby was way too good at what he did to falter at the first sight of the demonic host, bubbling into existence in front of him. He'd set this trap with expert hands and the experienced hunter knew what he had to do in order to spring it.

Arriving in the centre of the pentagram, Warminger took in his surroundings with a cold, calculating gaze. Sensing Bobby he rotated to face the hunter, trying to step forwards, but the boundaries within the trap were slowly shrinking as the spell took hold, and the demon started to feel the effects.

Bobby continued to recite in a loud clear voice as the demon hissed and spat at him, it's mouth grimacing and forming shapes, but no words were possible as the body's vocal chords had long since burnt to cinders.

The surrounding night was still and quiet but within the five pointed star, the wind surged and screamed as it rushed around the demon, snaking through the holes in its flesh and lifting him high above the book, just as it'd first lifted Warminger and then Dean. As the wind picked up, the demon gave one final ferocious howl of frustration and clawed at the empty air, desperate for purchase but it was no good. As the howl echoed through the night, the demon was sucked back down into the heart of the pages lying at his feet; the ruined and empty body that had been Warminger, disintegrating into ash and dispersing in the cool night air.

The book slammed shut with a shudder that seemed to reverberate through the woods, a small column of smoke rising from the red cover as it rested gently in the centre of the pentagram…its lost prisoner recaptured.

Bobby stopped speaking and fell to his hands and knees, dropping the manuscript he'd been reading from. He stared at the innocent looking red leather covered tome in front of him, and then let his head drop in spent exhaustion.

ooooo

"Dean? Come-on man, answer me." Sam's voice was croaky but loud.

Since the demon had been dragged from the clearing, the light had gone out, casting the entire wood into an engulfing darkness. He clawed at the dirt, trying to find the shotgun that'd flown from his grasp when he was attacked, his throat hurt and he still didn't have any clue where Dean was.

Then a sudden devious thought crept into Sam's mind and he called to his brother once more, this time with a hint of desperation. "Dean, I'm trapped, dude. I need help. Come-on man, I need you to help me." He quietened down and listened hard.

A low groan from just a few feet away was all the inspiration Sam needed. He flailed around with both arms desperately searching for the weapon; the gun was the perfect lever to move the tree trunk pining him in the dirt and as he stretched out, he suddenly felt something cold and hard just within his reach. Silently he thanked whichever guardian angel was on Winchester-watch that night.

Using the butt of the shotgun, Sam shimmied out from under the weight of the tree and, ignoring the pain in his legs, scrambled to where he thought he'd last heard his brother. He found Dean laying on his back, head bent to the side and right arm flung across his chest. The other was curved at a painful angle wedged up against the tree.

Even in the darkness Sam could see the wounds caused by the demon. Dark ragged claw marks stood out on Dean's pale face, his bleached hair now appearing streaked with black in the moonlight, coloured by his own blood and soot. The skin on his wrists was burnt and smoking, where the coils of light had restrained him and these were only the injuries Sam could see…but at least he was still breathing.

"Dean, hey…come on, man." Sam sat close and spoke softly as he checked for a pulse; fast and thready. He touched Dean's chest lightly. "Man, that thing really did a job on you".

Dean's eyes opened just enough to register a glint in the moonlight and gaze at his brother. "Smy? You K.?"

Sam smirked at the irony of the question. His brother could be laying there on the dirt ground with his guts spilling out, and he would still check on Sam first. "Yeah, Dean, just keep still man, you've had a rough night."

Dean fazed out for a moment, his face relaxing, his eyes glazing over…and then seemed to drift back, slowly twisting his neck to take in his surroundings, but Sam was barely able to see his expression in the dark.

"_Bobby__?" _Dean's voice was weak and faltering.

"Bobby's all right. Try to keep still, Dean!" Sam couldn't help but wonder if Bobby _was_ all right. Apart from seeing the demon torn away from his brother he'd no idea whether their plan had worked or not. And how the hell was he going to get Dean out of there? He doubted his brother could walk far, if at all, and leaving him was unthinkable. There was no other alternative, he'd have to carry him out and hope he didn't aggravate any unseen injuries. _"Dean, please, try to keep still!"_

But typically, Dean just frowned and grunted with effort as he slowly tried to lever himself off the wet ground and Sam could only watch his brother's efforts, not knowing whether to help or force him back down against the tree.

Before he could decide what to do, a loud rustling in the undergrowth drew Sam's attention and he turned sharply, aiming the shotgun into the black woods.

"SAM?"

The younger Winchester breathed a sigh of relief as he heard Bobby's call and keeping one hand on his brother's chest, he peered into the darkness and saw a thin beam of light weaving through the trees.

"_BOBBY. OVER HERE.__" _

As Bobby broke through the undergrowth he stopped dead, his eyes following the beam of light as it illuminated the two young men huddled together, covered in blood, sweat and black ash.

He let out a slow breath and shook his head at the sight of the two hunters. "You two boys gotta be one of the sorriest sights I ever saw."

Sam couldn't help but smile at him, the relief written all over his face, "Did it work Bobby? Is it done?"

"Yeah, it's done." Bobby's eyes taking in Dean's condition, his face dropping with each injury he saw. "The book's locked in your weapons trunk, with one extra houseguest on board, and now I think we should get you boys out of here, this thing ain't over yet."

TBC

Again, thanks to all those who are reviewing. If you have time, let me know what you think and if not, hope you enjoyed anyway.


	5. Chapter 5 The pen is mightier

Bearer of all Light

Chapter 5 – The pen is mightier than the sword.

Dean drifted on a river of amber heat, and idly wondered why his body hadn't bubbled and blistered yet. As he breathed in, he sensed the fire invading his nose and mouth and smooth its way over cool skin. Somewhere in his mind he knew this should hurt; he was meant to be in pain, but strangely, he felt oddly comforted when the tongues of flame licked at his face.

As dreams went, this was O.K. He'd had a whole lot worse, especially dreams involving fire, they usually 'sucked' out loud.

There was a voice inside his head quietly whispering, almost seductive in its tone, encouraging him to do something that he couldn't quite make out. It sounded important though, so he bore down and made a concerted effort to focus.

What he heard was another voice entirely, a familiar voice that sent a desperate, urgent shudder down his spine. _"Dean. I'm trapped, I need help. Come-on man, I need you to help me."_

'Sam'? He tried to call out but his lips wouldn't move; the best he could manage was a muted groan and then nothing. He lay there trapped in a useless body, unable to force his muscles to follow orders while inside, he raged at his impotency. Sam needed him, and all he could do was lie on the ground, and pray this inability to move wasn't permanent.

He felt the touch of a hand on his chest and Sam's voice was nearer this time. _"…done a job on you."_

With a gargantuan effort, Dean forced his eyes open, needing to see for himself that Sam was there and that he was whole and unhurt. It was a monumental effort, but he managed just enough, for the image of his brother's face to slowly come into focus. _"Sammy. Are you O.K.?"_

He saw his brother smile and his lips move, but heard nothing; he was back swimming in the fire; feeling it undulate around him, soak through his clothes. The distant voice had returned, calling to him, beckoning him, but it only lasted a moment. Then he was back in the woods with Sam by his side, while memories of the last twenty-four hours exploded in a vivid display in his mind. "Bobby?"

Again Sam spoke, but Dean could only watch as his mouth silently moved. _'OK, enough.'_ These limitations were starting to piss him off. _'Suck it up, Winchester. Get up off your butt.'_

With an internal struggle to rival his last hunt, Dean barely managed to thrash his arms and move one foot before falling back to the ground.

And once again he floated in the blaze, almost enjoying it now, allowing himself to rest in its embrace and only occasionally catching a brief sight of the real world. He felt lifted by gentle hands, no part of him touching the ground; then he could smell leather and hear the reassuring dull throb of the large chevy engine. Next, a soft mattress and cool sheets on his skin, but always he found himself back in the fire, floating in the inviting and serene, burning sea of flame.

ooooo

Sam sat by the narrow bed and watched, as his brother slept. He arched his spine as far as he could in the small chair and rubbed the back of his neck; letting out a deep breath, but feeling none of the tension from the last twenty-four hours leave his body. It didn't surprise him: he had no right to feel better, not while his brother lay sleeping, burned and concussed.

He heard the soft knock on the door and was instantly on guard. Picking up the loaded shotgun, he paced to the door and listened, then cracked it open. Bobby looked left and right, before entering and immediately motioned to Dean. "How's he doing?"

"Same."

"That good, huh?"

Bobby dumped the brown paper bag he was holding, on the nightstand and walked over to the sleeping man, examining his face, and gently palming his forehead. No temperature. The sharp line of stitches stood out in a long dark ridge through Deans blond hair and his brow sat clenched in a shallow frown, eyes twitching under heavy lids in time with his dream. The two broken fingers on his right hand had been splinted, cracked ribs wrapped, and Bobby was sure those burns on his back and head looked worse than they were, but he and Sam had spent a long time cleansing and dressing them, just to be sure.

"Let him sleep. We'll need to wake him in a half hour, make sure that head wound is just a concussion."

Moving away, Bobby started to decant the contents of the bag, but paused as Sam came up next to him.

"So what do we do with it now, Bobby?" His voice no more than a whisper, as his gaze touched on the tightly wrapped book on the table. "You got any ideas?"

Bobby turned and followed his stare, pausing thoughtfully and then looked back at the younger man. "Yeah, I know exactly what we do with it, Sam."

ooooo

The motel room wasn't particularly dark, but it may as well have been for Dean, as he opened weary eyes to the gloom. All he could see were jagged streams of light, filtering out, into his peripheral vision. It took a moment before he realised he was lying on his side, in a bed, staring into a small flaming black candle on a table.

He tried opening his eyes a little more, and for an instant he was sure he was still asleep, that the dream hadn't left, that the voice was still in his head; seducing him with soft sounds that echoed in his ears. He screwed his eyes shut tight for just a second and tried to concentrate on his breathing, _in through the nose, out through the mouth. _

A faint noise outside his head grew steadily stronger and Dean focused on listening, instinctively knowing it was important. He heard a chant he didn't recognise, smelt hot wax and incense and sensed the soft warmth of the bed he rested on, but none of that could explain the euphoria he felt as he gazed at that small flickering yellow flame. Every second he stared into its depth, it enveloped him further and gave him a feeling of superhuman strength and boundless energy, negating the pain and weariness he'd felt.

Bobby was chanting in a deep rich voice as he stood over the table and watched Sam paint, the red ink blessed and laced with resin.

As Sam glided the bush over the pages with skilled hands, he felt the tome resonate with a kind of energy that seemed to suck the room dry of all life force. He concentrated on keeping the brush in contact with the paper as the book trembled on the table; it was as if it had a mind of its own, as though it wanted no part in this ritual.

As the tome started to shudder hard, Bobby looked up, concerned written all over his face, but he refused to be halted in the incantation. Sam finished the last stroke and the book slammed shut with a hollow groan that seemed to echo throughout the tiny room, the candles blew out of their own accord, and they were plunged into an unholy darkness.

All was still.

A wave of doubt washed over Sam as he looked from the book to Bobby, could it really be that simple? "Do you think it's done?"

"Yeah. I think it is." Bobby looked down at the tome as he scratched his beard. "But I ain't gonna be the one to test it."

A muffled sigh drew both men's attention and they looked across the room at Dean, as he levered himself from the comfort of the bed. Sam was by his brother's side in seconds. "Dean. Keep still; you're meant to be resting." He tutted as his brother completely ignored him and continued to fight his way out of the sheets. Sam shook his head as he watched his brother, he'd always been impressed by Dean's powers of recuperation but this was crazy fast even for him.

"Need the bathroom." Dean glowered at Sam, almost daring him to argue. "You gonna sit there and stare at me? Or you gonna help me up?" For someone who looked the way he did, Dean's was surprisingly coherent. Sam bent to help his brother, but he batted his hand away impatiently. "Too late, besides, don't need a nurse, dude. Not one that looks like you anyhow." He grinned, but the sentiment appeared empty and false.

Throwing his eyes up to heaven, Bobby tried to find something else to do. 'No good helping a Winchester who don't want help'. But he watched as Dean limped hesitantly to the door of the bathroom, and couldn't help but be impressed at the younger man's fortitude.

They both watched as Dean disappears through the door, and were both silently relieved at the sound of the tap running. It was a comfort; at least they knew he was still on his feet as they could hear him slowly moving around the small room.

Standing by the table, Sam turned his attention to the job at hand; he looked at Bobby, pensively. "So, how are we supposed to destroy this thing, if the drawings have to remain complete and it won't burn?"

Bobby sat down and appraised the situation, if he were truthful; they were running out of ideas and he had nothing. Every option seemed to run the risk of the book falling into the wrong hands and they just couldn't let that happen. Sam spoke forcefully, looking at the volume as though it were the most offensive thing he had ever seen. "I say we burry it in cement, or we could encase it, and toss it in the ocean, best to be sure."

Just then Dean stumbled back through the door and paused, leaning against the frame, arms crossed over his bandaged chest and trying to look casual rather than desperate for the support the hardwood offered. "Just hold on Sammy, you're being kind of hasty here."

"What?" Sam frowned at his brother still mentally mapping the colourful bruises on his face; he couldn't believe there was anything left to talk about.

Dean moved forward slowly, still cradling his injured ribs and carefully sank back onto the bed, moving to brace himself against the headboard. Although he sounded exhausted, he looked excited, like a kid with a new toy. "It's a _prison for demons_, Sammy. How useful would that be in our line of work? _Just think about it_; our own freaking, mobile, demon trashcan. Just imagine what we could do with that thing."

Bobby looked up. "Your brother makes a good point, Sam."

"Dean, you've got to be kidding me. You want us to _KEEP it_?" Sam stared open mouthed and blinked.

"Well, yeah." He looked searchingly at his brother but spoke gently. "Would that be so bad?"

Sam appeared incredulous_. _"What is wrong with you both?"He pointed to his brother_. _"You nearly died, Dean, TWICE. You're lucky to even BE here right now. How can you want to keep that thing_?" _He fisted his hand on the table as he spoke, next turning to Bobby. "And why are you encouraging him? Don't you think were carrying around enough demons, Bobby?"Not waiting for a reply, he stood and stalked out of the room letting the door slam behind him, leaving the two remaining occupants sitting in uncomfortable silence. Dean looked at the door still slightly reverberating with the force of the impact, and immediately caught Bobby's eye.

He smiled tiredly at the look of shock on the older mans face. "Don't mind her, Bobby; she's had a hard day."

ooooo

Sam heard the bell on the diner's door but never looked up. He sat in a booth at the back; successfully hiding from the world, staring resolutely into his coffee and didn't even notice as his brother took the seat opposite him.

"Didn't think you'd mind, people were kinda staring." Dean pointed to the seat he was now wriggling in, trying, and failing to get comfy.

Sam gave the rest of the diner a glance and realised that Dean was quite right, people were staring, but then his brother did look kinda strange. The stitches in his scalp were a dark blue divide through blond hair, and his face was marred by scrapes on bruises. The term roadkill came to mind. He still looked exhausted, but there was something else, something stronger in his eyes, a look of deep concern for his brother…and locked into his pupils, a glow that Sam couldn't identify.

He looked back to his half empty cup. "Dude, you shouldn't be out of bed. How are you even standing up right now?"

Dean grinned. "Amazing what I can do when I set my mind to it, Sammy."

"Yeah, I heard that about you."

"Sam. Look, I ….."

Holding up one hand, Sam cut his brother off before he could hear any more.

"Dean, there is nothing you can say that is going to change my mind about this. I don't know what we should do with that thing, but _it's not_ coming with us. There is no way we're giving trunk space to a demon."

Dean raised his brows and looked at his brother thoughtfully. "Well technically, Sammy, the book could contain one demon or a hundred, no way to tell for sure."

"Well, that makes me feel way better about the whole 'keeping it in the trunk' part." Suddenly realising he'd raised his voice a little too loud, Sam guiltily checked his surroundings.

"Look, I was just gonna say…"

"Dean, that demon _had_ you, and if I'd been just a minute late, you'd be a walking torch right about now….." Sam didn't let up but kept his voice lower this time.

"Yeah, about that…"

"…and, we have no idea just how dangerous that thing might be, so for you to just casually want to toss it in the trunk, it's just crazy, man."

Dean took quick advantage of the pause in Sam's outburst and leaned in, as close as the table between them would allow. "If I pass out, feel free to keep on talking, Sammy." He paused, knowing he'd finally got his brother's attention. "Bobby said he'd take care of it, he said he had a plan, and I for one trust him. Don't know what he's thinking, but right now, I'm not sure I want to. Now…he's packing our stuff, were heading out in ten, better get you're coffee to go and get one for me while you're at it."

Sam was mystified at this unexpected change of events. "Where are we going, exactly?"

"Bobby's place, he offered and it seemed like a good idea to rest up for a while, maybe take a few days. But we don't have to, I mean, if you'd rather head out and look for another hunt, then…"

"No. no. no. that's fine. A few days, yeah, that sounds just fine." Sam felt himself relax for the first time in days. Bobby's place meant safety; it meant a refuge however temporary and on a good day, it could even feel like home.

Epilogue

Bobby pulled up outside the graveyard and cut the engine. The trip had been a long one but considering the last three days, he'd had enough on his mind to keep him occupied.

Both boys had been asleep when he'd left; slowly recovering and gathering their strength for the next battle in this war and he was happy to let them. At least at his place, he knew they would be safe, they'd been through so much already and he knew there was only worse to come for the Winchester's.

Although he loved both boys equally, even considered them his surrogatesons, the deal Dean made to save his brother weighed heavy on his heart. There was no doubt in his mind that Sam would do whatever was needed to find a way out and Bobby knew he'd be there to help, but he prayed both boys wouldn't wind up dead as a result. As for Dean, well he blamed John all over for that one. Wasn't it John who'd tasked a four year old _child_ with a job most adults weren't qualified to do? Wasn't it John who'd taught the boy to be a pillar of strength for others only to abandon him when he'd needed and deserved the same?

'_No wonder that boy don't think nothing__ of himself. Yeah, you got a lot to answer for John Winchester'._

Bobby climbed from the cab as darkness fell; and picked up the torch, shovel and the blessed airtight box containing the book. The hole didn't take long to dig, it was deep but small and after digging graves it was a piece of cake. He let the consecrated box drop down through the ground and started shovelling dirt. Once he was finished he made sure to cover the earth with the carefully removed turf so the area once again looked undisturbed.

Then he stood back for a moment and admired his handiwork. He was ready to make his way back to the truck, and get back to the boys, but there was one thing left to do. He walked slowly towards the small plinth planted in the ground just behind the book's new burial place, sunk to his haunches and gently brushed at the dirt and leaves gathered on the cool flat stone as his eyes caught the inscription. '_In loving memory of John Winchester_ _1955 – 2007 Fight the good fight'_

Bobby glanced to his right and saw Mary's gravestone looking almost serene in the moonlight, then turned back to John's memorial. There was a lot he wanted to say, but the time for talk was passed. They'd been friends of sorts, and they'd also been enemies for a time, but he'd seen with his own eyes as John had rejoined the fight; had battled for the life of his boys and he was grateful. Who would think to look here, 'hell, there ain't even a coffin.' No,no one would think to look here, and Bobby would take the secret with him to his own grave.

As he stood, he spoke softly, his voice no more than a whisper. _"Well John Winchester, now you've got work to do." _And turning on his heels, he slowly walked back to his truck, shovel in hand.

The End

This story continues in the sequel 'Better to burn out – than fade away' which will be posted very soon.

Thanks for all reviews, they are a huge encouragement and always make my day.


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